The Burgess Bird Book for Children Part 5

Pee-wee! Pee-wee!" But he wasn't sad, as Peter well knew. It was his way of expressing how happy he felt. He was a little bigger than his cousin, Chebec, but looked very much like him. There was a little notch in the end of his tail. The upper half of his bill was black, but the lower half was light. Peter could see on each wing two whitish bars, and he noticed that Pewee's wings were longer than his tail, which wasn't the case with Chebec. But no one could ever mistake Pewee for any of his relatives, for the simple reason that he keeps repeating his own name over and over.

"Aren't you here early?" asked Peter.

Pewee nodded. "Yes," said he. "It has been unusually warm this spring, so I hurried a little and came up with my cousins, Sc.r.a.pper and Cresty.

That is something I don't often do."

"If you please," Peter inquired politely, "why do folks call you Wood Pewee?"

Pewee chuckled happily. "It must be," said he, "because I am so very fond of the Green Forest. It is so quiet and restful that I love it. Mrs. Pewee and I are very retiring. We do not like too many near neighbors."

"You won't mind if I come to see you once in a while, will you?" asked Peter as he prepared to start on again for the dear Old Briar-patch.

"Come as often as you like," replied Pewee. "The oftener the better."

Back in the Old Briar-patch Peter thought over all he had learned about the Flycatcher family, and as he recalled how they were forever catching all sorts of flying insects it suddenly struck him that they must be very useful little people in helping Old Mother Nature take care of her trees and other growing things which insects so dearly love to destroy.

But most of all Peter thought about that queer request of Cresty's, and a dozen times that day he found himself peeping under old logs in the hope of finding a cast-off coat of Mr. Black Snake. It was such a funny thing for Cresty to ask for that Peter's curiosity would allow him no peace, and the next morning he was up in the Old Orchard before jolly Mr. Sun had kicked his bedclothes off.

Jenny Wren was as good as her word. While she flitted and hopped about this way and that way in that fussy way of hers, getting her breakfast, she talked. Jenny couldn't keep her tongue still if she wanted to.

"Did you find any old clothes of the Snake family?" she demanded. Then as Peter shook his head her tongue ran on without waiting for him to reply. "Cresty and his wife always insist upon having a piece of Snake skin in their nest," said she. "Why they want it, goodness knows! But they do want it and never can seem to settle down to housekeeping unless they have it. Perhaps they think it will scare robbers away. As for me, I should have a cold chill every time I got into my nest if I had to sit on anything like that. I have to admit that Cresty and his wife are a handsome couple, and they certainly have good sense in choosing a house, more sense than any other member of their family to my way of thinking.

But Snake skins! Ugh!"

"By the way, where does Cresty build?" asked Peter.

"In a hole in a tree, like the rest of us sensible people," retorted Jenny Wren promptly.

Peter looked quite as surprised as he felt. "Does Cresty make the hole?"

he asked.

"Goodness gracious, no!" exclaimed Jenny Wren. "Where are your eyes, Peter? Did you ever see a Flycatcher with a bill that looked as if it could cut wood?" She didn't wait for a reply, but rattled on. "It is a good thing for a lot of us that the Woodp.e.c.k.e.r family are so fond of new houses. Look! There is Downy the Woodp.e.c.k.e.r hard at work on a new house this very minute. That's good. I like to see that. It means that next year there will be one more house for some one here in the Old Orchard.

For myself I prefer old houses. I've noticed there are a number of my neighbors who feel the same way about it. There is something settled about an old house. It doesn't attract attention the way a new one does.

So long as it has got reasonably good walls, and the rain and the wind can't get in, the older it is the better it suits me. But the Woodp.e.c.k.e.rs seem to like new houses best, which, as I said before, is a very good thing for the rest of us."

"Who is there besides you and Cresty and Bully the English Sparrow who uses these old Woodp.e.c.k.e.r houses?" asked Peter.

"Winsome Bluebird, stupid!" snapped Jenny Wren.

Peter grinned and looked foolish. "Of course," said he. "I forgot all about Winsome."

"And Skimmer the Tree Swallow," added Jenny.

"That's so; I ought to have remembered him," exclaimed Peter. "I've noticed that he is very fond of the same house year after year. Is there anybody else?"

Again Jenny Wren nodded. "Yank-Yank the Nuthatch uses an old house, I'm told, but he usually goes up North for his nesting," said she. "Tommy t.i.t the Chickadee sometimes uses an old house. Then again he and Mrs.

Chickadee get fussy and make a house for themselves. Yellow Wing the flicker, who really is a Woodp.e.c.k.e.r, often uses an old house, but quite often makes a new one. Then there are Killy the Sparrow Hawk and Spooky the Screech Owl."

Peter looked surprised. "I didn't suppose THEY nested in holes in trees!" he exclaimed.

"They certainly do, more's the pity!" snapped Jenny. "It would be a good thing for the rest of us if they didn't nest at all. But they do, and an old house of Yellow Wing the Flicker suits either of them. Killy always uses one that is high up, and comes back to it year after year. Spooky isn't particular so long as the house is big enough to be comfortable.

He lives in it more or less the year around. Now I must get back to those eggs of mine. I've talked quite enough for one morning."

"Oh, Jenny," cried Peter, as a sudden thought struck him.

Jenny paused and jerked her tail impatiently. "Well, what is it now?"

she demanded.

"Have you got two homes?" asked Peter.

"Goodness gracious, no!" exclaimed Jenny. "What do you suppose I want of two homes? One is all I can take care of."

"Then why," demanded Peter triumphantly, "does Mr. Wren work all day carrying sticks and straws into a hole in another tree? It seems to me that he has carried enough in there to build two or three nests."

Jenny Wren's eyes twinkled, and she laughed softly. "Mr. Wren just has to be busy about something, bless his heart," said she. "He hasn't a lazy feather on him. He's building that nest to take up his time and keep out of mischief. Besides, if he fills that hollow up n.o.body else will take it, and you know we might want to move some time. Good-by, Peter." With a final jerk of her tail Jenny Wren flew to the little round doorway of her house and popped inside.

CHAPTER IX. Longbill and Teeter.

From the decided way in which Jenny Wren had popped into the little round doorway of her home, Peter knew that to wait in the hope of more gossip with her would be a waste of time. He wasn't ready to go back home to the dear Old Briar-patch, yet there seemed nothing else to do, for everybody in the Old Orchard was too busy for idle gossip. Peter scratched a long ear with a long hind foot, trying to think of some place to go. Just then he heard the clear "peep, peep, peep" of the Hylas, the sweet singers of the Smiling Pool.

"That's where I'll go!" exclaimed Peter. "I haven't been to the Smiling Pool for some time. I'll just run over and pay my respects to Grandfather Frog, and to Redwing the Blackbird. Redwing was one of the first birds to arrive, and I've neglected him shamefully."

When Peter thinks of something to do he wastes no time. Off he started, lipperty-lipperty-lip, for the Smiling Pool. He kept close to the edge of the Green Forest until he reached the place where the Laughing Brook comes out of the Green Forest on its way to the Smiling Pool in the Green Meadows. Bushes and young trees grow along the banks of the Laughing Brook at this point. The ground was soft in places, quite muddy. Peter doesn't mind getting his feet damp, so he hopped along carelessly. From right under his very nose something shot up into the air with a whistling sound. It startled Peter so that he stopped short with his eyes popping out of his head. He had just a glimpse of a brown form disappearing over the tops of some tall bushes. Then Peter chuckled. "I declare," said he, "I had forgotten all about my old friend, Longbill the Woodc.o.c.k. He scared me for a second."

"Then you are even," said a voice close at hand. "You scared him. I saw you coming, but Longbill didn't."

Peter turned quickly. There was Mrs. Woodc.o.c.k peeping at him from behind a tussock of gra.s.s.

"I didn't mean to scare him," apologized Peter. "I really didn't mean to. Do you think he was really very much scared?"

"Not too scared to come back, anyway," said Longbill himself, dropping down just in front of Peter. "I recognized you just as I was disappearing over the tops of the bushes, so I came right back. I learned when I was very young that when startled it is best to fly first and find out afterwards whether or not there is real danger. I am glad it is no one but you, Peter, for I was having a splendid meal here, and I should have hated to leave it. You'll excuse me while I go on eating, I hope. We can talk between bites."

"Certainly I'll excuse you," replied Peter, staring around very hard to see what it could be Longbill was making such a good meal of. But Peter couldn't see a thing that looked good to eat. There wasn't even a bug or a worm crawling on the ground. Longbill took two or three steps in rather a stately fashion. Peter had to hide a smile, for Longbill had such an air of importance, yet at the same time was such an odd looking fellow. He was quite a little bigger than Welcome Robin, his tail was short, his legs were short, and his neck was short. But his bill was long enough to make up. His back was a mixture of gray, brown, black and buff, while his breast and under parts were a beautiful reddish-buff. It was his head that made him look queer. His eyes were very big and they were set so far back that Peter wondered if it wasn't easier for him to look behind him than in front of him.

Suddenly Longbill plunged his bill into the ground. He plunged it in for the whole length. Then he pulled it out and Peter caught a glimpse of the tail end of a worm disappearing down Longbill's throat. Where that long bill had gone into the ground was a neat little round hole. For the first time Peter noticed that there were many such little round holes all about. "Did you make all those little round holes?" exclaimed Peter.

"Not at all," replied Longbill. "Mrs. Woodc.o.c.k made some of them."

"And was there a worm in every one?" asked Peter, his eyes very wide with interest.

Longbill nodded. "Of course," said he. "You don't suppose we would take the trouble to bore one of them if we didn't know that we would get a worm at the end of it, do you?"

Peter remembered how he had watched Welcome Robin listen and then suddenly plunge his bill into the ground and pull out a worm. But the worms Welcome Robin got were always close to the surface, while these worms were so deep in the earth that Peter couldn't understand how it was possible for any one to know that they were there. Welcome Robin could see when he got hold of a worm, but Longbill couldn't. "Even if you know there is a worm down there in the ground, how do you know when you've reached him? And how is it possible for you to open your bill down there to take him in?" asked Peter.

Longbill chuckled. "That's easy," said he. "I've got the handiest bill that ever was. See here!" Longbill suddenly thrust his bill straight out in front of him and to Peter's astonishment he lifted the end of the upper half without opening the rest of his bill at all. "That's the way I get them," said he. "I can feel them when I reach them, and then I just open the top of my bill and grab them. I think there is one right under my feet now; watch me get him." Longbill bored into the ground until his head was almost against it. When he pulled his bill out, sure enough, there was a worm. "Of course," explained Longbill, "it is only in soft ground that I can do this. That is why I have to fly away south as soon as the ground freezes at all."

"It's wonderful," sighed Peter. "I don't suppose any one else can find hidden worms that way."